


A New Foundation

by mistma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:33:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7589071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistma/pseuds/mistma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of her father, disappearance of her mother, and a violent attack on her oldest brother and sister, 22 year old Arya Stark flees Washington, D.C. in search of a life free of turmoil, intrigue and, most importantly, politics. Dyeing her hair, changing her name and finding employment thanks to a silver-haired new friend, Arya believes herself to be safe and truly able to start fresh. Unfortunately, her past has an uncanny ability to catch up with her-even in the far reaches of Maine-bringing with it an eerily familiar face and the wide reach of The Lannister Organization, a real estate empire that just might reveal her secrets-or its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Foundation

Tyrion Lannister leaned forward in his cushioned chair and grinned across the table at his brother, spreading his hands in the air as if displaying a picture. “North,” he declared proudly.

Jaime quirked an eyebrow ( _decidedly_ _waxed_ , _Tyrion_ _mused_ ), silently urging his Chief Brand Officer to elaborate.

“North,” Tyrion repeated, “Is the cardinal direction in which we should next hope to expand the company’s reach. I’ve consulted the accountants and they’ve given the go-ahead for a new project, and since we’ve successfully gone about as southward as our preposterously enormous country allows we should think about moving up, as well.”

As CEO of what some would call the most profitable real estate empire on the East coast, a title passed down from the shrewd- and recently deceased- business mogul Tywin Lannister himself, Jaime was used to hearing ideas of all sorts from his colleagues and staff. While some of his brother’s propositions were ridiculous and often made in jest, the head executive had to admit that Tyrion’s latest suggestion was worth further consideration. It had been almost seven months since The Lannister Organization’s last big buy, and though money was still flowing smoothly there was a certain feeling of listlessness in Jaime that he knew could only be solved in a grand undertaking.

“North…” Jaime mused, fingers steepled and elbows resting on the polished black surface of the executive meeting table. “And just how far North would you recommend?”

* * *

She swept up the last of the dinner plates and silverware from two outdoor tables at Wake the Dragon Café and Restaurant and made her way with practiced ease to the dishwashing station. After she deposited her pile of plates and cutlery into the sink, stopping to quickly cleanse her hands of sauces and soap bubbles, the exhausted blonde made her way over to the register in order to tally up her tips for the night.

 _Friday dinner rush never gets easier_ , she thought to herself. Then, after calculating her receipts, revised the statement: _But the tips damn well make up for it_. She had made almost $250 in the last six hours of work-not as much as last weekend on her double shift, but a considerably higher amount than she had been earning only a few months prior when she had arrived at her first real job. Thankfully, she had made tedious but rewarding progress with the regular customers at the posh-yet-cozy restaurant, the larger and more elaborate meals at which certainly couldn’t be called “inexpensive”. The regulars never made a fuss about cost though; people living in such an up and coming area of coastal Maine could typically afford Dany’s prices.

Placing her hard-earned bills ( _what_ _a_ _beautiful_ , _beautiful_ _feeling_ _between_ _her_ _fingertips_!) in a black windbreaker pocket and zipping them up tight, she headed out the front door. Ben Hawkey, or “Hot Pie” as he was affectionately called by friends, had offered to lock up as he would be staying late to create his unparalleled breads, pastries, and sandwiches for the morning crowd.

The sun had long since set, and though the salt-tinged air wasn’t quite cold yet gusts of wind sent shivers down her back as she walked down the sidewalk. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but take a slight detour into the park and into her favorite gazebo to enjoy the fairy lights strung throughout its arching white rafters and to gaze at the calm black ocean. It was in moments like this when she felt peace throughout her entire being, when she felt as though she could float out beyond the water and become no one at all. After a few moments, she inhaled deeply, ran thin fingers through long hair the color of cornsilk, and set off to her little apartment.

Her mail load came in random waves, and she wasn’t surprised to find a single purple envelope typical of Dany in her PO box. Her biweekly paycheck, made out in official black capital letters to MS. MERCY WINTERS, made her sigh in relief: another guarantee that she could make a life for herself in this place.

 

 

Later, she made the mistake of turning on the television.

 

Suddenly staring at the trimmed black beard and rounded features of President Robert Baratheon through the small TV screen, hearing his booming voice declare yet more senseless violence against foreign threats, the events of the last year came shrieking back into her brain. Everything that she had evaded, escaped, and blocked out of her memory flooded in once more: her father, prone, on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Her sister, so fragile to begin with, breathing weakly into a clear tube on a sterile hospital bed. Cersei Lannister, gripping her wrist tightly, towering above her, hissing that she should get out while she still could. She pressed her hands to her ears, rushing to clutch at the tiny bathroom sink and run cool water over her face.

When she tied her hair back and looked up into the mirror, she saw dark circles, a deeply set frown. She wasn’t remotely taken aback when she saw the old familiar blaze of hatred in her own puffy grey eyes. For a perfect, painful moment, blonde and benign Mercy Winters was gone. In her place was Arya Stark. 


End file.
